Elena, Book 1: Exile
by Annabelle Grey
Summary: When a stranger appears in Tortall with amnesia no one understands the significance of her arrival of how wrong things truly are in Galla, rating may go up.
1. Chapter 1: Flight

**Drustva, Western Galla - 465 HE**

The night was unusually quiet. There were very few creatures stirring in the woods; the long shadows created by the silvery light of the moon gave the world an eerie cast. The stable, too, was dark, the only human presence being a young stable boy sleeping deeply in the loft amongst the hay; below him, the horses shifted in their stalls.

Cautiously blending into the shadows, a cloaked figure crept around the corner of the building. Eyes the colour of emeralds flicked around the quiet yard alertly before their owner turned to the entrance of the stable and stepped inside. The shape darted from stall to stall, peering at the occupants within. At the sight of a hardy-looking black mare the shadowed figure paused. The mare swung her head to the doorway and slowly stood up to greet her late night visitor.

The figure's soft, feminine voice gentled the wary horse and the mare snorted in recognition, nuzzling her owner gently. As her owner stroked her jet-black face, the mare nipped at her with her strong teeth. Her owner barely flinched, thinking it her mare's way of reprimanding her for her absence. Instead, she stroked her horse's silky nose with the ease of familiarity. "I'm sorry, Fier, I missed you too," she apologized, her voice heavy with unshed tears.

With quick practiced movements which spoke of years of experience, the shrouded woman checked over her old friend for injures and missing shoes. Finding the mare well cared-for, the woman saddled her and led her out of the stall by the reins, pausing to raise her eyes to the loft when the stable boy muttered in his slumber. A small sigh escaped her lips and she pressed onward into the stable yard.

The silvery moonlight illuminated the face underneath the black hood, revealing her to be young but careworn, her unexpressed grief standing starkly evident in her vivid green eyes. With a wince she placed her foot in the stirrup and hauled herself up into the saddle, she spared the stable behind her a final glance before spurring the horse southwards into the mountains, leaving the village of Drustva behind her.

***

With the road stretching emptily southwards, Elena could no longer distract herself from replaying the horrific scene over and over. Ducking a low hanging branch as she roughly brushed the wetness from her face, the sounds of her family's screams echoed in her ears. She had more pressing issues; grief could come later. She had to reach Tortall and warn them of what was secretly going on in Galla, of her cousin's terrible betrayal. She had to get aid.

Pressing one hand painfully to her side, she drew it back and hissed through her teeth at the sight of the dark stain of blood on her fingertips. She debated stopping and trying to treat her wound herself, but the horrors behind her lay too close; her impulse to flee far surpassed her need to stop.

***

At the peaceful border between Galla and Tortall, not far from the river Drell, a guard sleepily ambled over to the barrier blocking the road. He was eager to get back to the warm fire of the guardhouse and his cup of ale, but the sight of the cloaked rider atop his large black horse sent a chill down his spine. "Ho there! What be yer business at this late hour, Sir?" he asked nervously.

Drawing nearer he squinted, trying to see the face of the rider, but before he could succeed a chilled pale hand pressed two gold coins into the guard's palm. "I was never here," said the hooded figure.

His eyes widened slightly as he realized that the hooded horseman was a woman. Somehow he managed to maintain his composure, giving a small bow before lifting the barrier aside. "Of course, my lady; a safe journey to yer."

He watched as the shadowy rider galloped into Tortall, and with a shiver the guardsman tucked the coins away, making the sign against evil on his forehead and sending a silent prayer to the Gods for a quiet night.


	2. Chapter 2: Discovery

**A/N: **Have a look at my profile, there's a helpful map...

**Goldenlake, North East Tortall**

Daine's soft, blue-grey eyes scanned the forest in the midday sun. Idly, she listened to two sparrows chatter about the approaching Big Cold and the location of some juicy berries. The forest was full of the sounds of the comings and goings of the creatures in the woods, though try as she might she could not find anything to collaborate the reports of bandits in the area. The bandits were profiting from the quietly increasing numbers of people flooding in from Galla. Daine's eyes clouded as she thought of Galla, the land of her birth. Tortall was her homeland and it had welcomed her more than Galla ever had, but she couldn't help but feel unease at the patchy rumours spoken in hushed tones by the Gallan refugees. A large hand enclosed hers, jolting her out of her thoughts.

"Any news from your friends?" Numair asked, his dark eyes smiling down at her.

Shaking her head, Daine sighed. "The bandits are travelling in smaller groups than normal, it makes them harder to track..." she trailed off and listened absently, noticing a third sparrow had joined his fellows and was exchanging news.

Numair nodded in agreement. "We've searched for two days, I'm sure Sarra and Rikash are-"

Daine raised her hand, stopping him mid-sentence. The sparrow was telling his friends about a wounded two-legger he had spotted not long far off, her horse had been less than polite.

_Where?_ she asked, interrupting the conversation.

The sparrows regarded her with interest and twittered for a moment before alighting on her shoulders.

_I'll show you the way,_ the third sparrow offered.

Daine quickly relayed the information to Numair. Setting of at a steady walk, both humans followed the sparrow's directions until they reached a clearing. On the other side of the clearing a large black horse grazed on the sparse grass, lifting its head warily with Daine and Numair's approach. Just beyond the mare lay a limp, cloaked figure partly covered by fallen leaves. As they drew closer, the mare pinned her ears back and snorted in warning, baring her teeth threateningly. The sparrows left them there with cheerful but hasty farewells.

_I mean you no harm,_ Daine told the mare gently.

The horse tilted her head curiously. _You are People, two-legger?_

Numair halted outside of the horse's striking range, knowing that Daine could handle the agitated mare. His eyes drifted to the prone figure just behind the horse, noting the stillness of it with alarm.

_Yes,_ Daine confirmed. _Why did you threaten us?_ She moved closer and pulled an apple from her pocket, giving it to the hungry mare.

_My two-legger is hurt and the last set of two-leggers that approached tried to hurt her more._

The wild mage stroked the horse's nose gently, seeing a matted wound on the creature's neck. The mare noticed the direction of her gaze. _The two-leggers..._ she explained wearily.

Daine frowned, her lips pursed in a tight line. _I can help you with this wound, and my friend here can help your two-legger. Would that be alright with you?  
_  
The horse gave her approval and Daine immediately set to healing her neck, sending a quick nod to Numair. At this the mage hurried forwards, rolling the slight form of the fallen rider onto her back. Her once fine, light blue dress was stained with a large amount of blood. He laid his hand on the young woman's neck and cursed. The pulse at her throat was faint and her skin was cool to his fingertips. He noticed that Daine was looking over at him worriedly. "She's got a deep wound just below her ribs," he explained grimly, "I don't think her lung is pierced but it's dangerous nonetheless. I'll send out a call for help." Using a small amount of Gift, he sent out the standard signal for distress for the King's Own and the Queen's Riders. Within moments, he got a reply.

"What wrong, Numair?" came the Lioness' business-like voice through the far-speaking orb.

Numair silently thanked the Gods for his luck. "We've found an injured traveller, she's in dire need of a healer..."

"We're not far, we can be there by sundown," the Lady Knight informed him, closing the signal abruptly.

Examination of the young woman revealed that in addition to the wound on her side, she had also banged her head at some point. That she had slipped into unconsciousness and not awoken was not a good sign. Sighing, Numair brushed the long, dark hair from his patient's face. A pretty young woman, he decided, despite the noticeable bend in the fine bones of her nose and a visible scar above her eyebrow that stretched across her forehead. A young woman roaming alone near the border. The mage's mind ran through the possibilities. There was talk of civil war in Galla. A lot of minor nobility and merchants were fleeing from their country, it was possible she had been separated from her family.

His large hands worked nimbly over the deep cut in the girl's side, pressing padding into it and binding it all up with a bandage. It was all he could do for her.

***

After the careful work of healing, Daine blinked and stretched. The sun was low in the sky and she felt rather tired. Smiling at the horse's thanks, she trudged the short distance to the campfire and Numair. "Is help far away?" she asked, taking the chunk of bread and cheese he offered and eating it ravenously.

"Alanna should be here soon," he said as he stood to check on the young woman. His brow creased in worry when he found her pulse was still weak and she showed no signs of waking.

Daine listened to the animals of the forest around her for chatter about approaching help. Two miles away, she found it. Rabbits were complaining about the horses' hooves thundering above their burrows. Smiling, she finished her food and brushed the crumbs from her clothes, waiting for the sounds of the hooves to come within range of her human hearing.

It didn't take long. At twilight the fifth group of the Queen's Riders arrived. In the lead was Sir Alanna of Pirate's Swoop and Olau. Tonight the stocky knight was dressed in practical leather armour; her shield was hagning from her saddle and decorated with the Lioness, her personal symbol. At the sight of her friends, she raised her hand in greeting and dismounted from her horse.

Moving to greet her, Numair clasped hands with the Lioness. "Alanna, well met, we were lucky you were so close," he lead the Lady Knight over to the unconscious girl.

The Group commander, a man named Geraint, called out instructions to the Riders, and the small clearing quickly became a hive of activity. Giving Daine a quick hug, Alanna said, "There have been some sightings of Stormwings. It turned out to be a fool's errand though, I can't find any sign of them." She turned her violet gaze on Daine, "I don't suppose you've heard anything?" When the wild mage shook her head she sighed "I thought so. I'd best get to healing, then."

Reaching the unconscious girl, Alanna stiffly sat down next to her, unwrapping Numair's bandage work. She hissed through her teeth in sympathy. "Looks like a crossbow bolt wound... Raoul mentioned he'd been having some bandit problems."

Daine opened her mouth to tell her that was why they were there, but a distressed neigh drew her attention back to the traveller's horse. Excusing herself, she hurriedly went over to the black mare, who was eyeing the new arrivals nervously. Soothing the horse, she quickly explained what was going on and that all of the two-leggers were friends. _Your two-legger is very badly hurt, we needed more help.  
_  
The horse accepted her explanation reluctantly, her eyes flicking to the purple fire coming from Alanna's hands as she worked.

_Who attacked he_r? Daine questioned, _Was it men on the roads?_

_No,_ The mare replied with ringing certainty, _She came to me injured and afraid... we travelled much further than ever before._

Giving the horse another reassuring pat, Daine mulled over this new information, vowing to share it with Numair and Alanna when the healing was done.

***

Deep into the night, the violet blaze of Alanna's Gift receded back into her hands and she yawned sleepily. A quick check of the girl's pulse found it strong and steady. Calling quietly to a female Rider, they carried the young woman into one of the tents and laid her on a makeshift pallet. "Keep a watch on her," Alanna instructed, "I think Sir Myles may have some questions."

The light-haired rider nodded, "I'll see to it that someone is with her at all times, Lioness."

***

The sun was high in the sky the next day when Alanna awoke. "Why didn't you wake me sooner?" She grumbled to no one in particular.

It was Daine who replied as she pushed a bowl of porridge into her hands. "You were up late healing, you needed the rest."

Placated by breakfast the Lioness didn't disagree, finishing the food quickly. Walking over to the tent, she spoke to the Rider guarding the door, a tall man who looked to have Bazhir blood. "Has she woken up yet?"

He shook his head, "No, Lady Knight"

Alanna ducked inside the tent to examine her patient. Someone had thoughtfully washed her and changed her out of her bloodstained dress and into a loose white nightshirt. Some colour had returned to the young woman's face and her breathing was deep and even as though she were simply sleeping. A glint of gold through the open collar of the shirt caught Alanna's eye. When she took a closer look she saw it to be a fine gold chain with a locket attached. Careful prying couldn't open it, but the gold on the back was inscribed.

'To our dearest daughter, Elena' Alanna read silently. 'On the anniversary of her seventeenth year, love Mama and Papa.' Feeling guilty, as though she had intruded on a private moment, the Lady knight gently tucked the locket back inside the girl's nightshirt and ducked out of the tent. They at least had a name for her now, and delicately worked gold like that did not come cheaply. That, along with such a fine horse made it safe to assume her family was wealthy. She would talk to her husband or Sir Myles about tracing the origins of the girl, both the Knight of Olau and the Baron of Pirate's swoop had far-reaching nets of contacts.

"Group Commander Geraint, a word," Alanna called, beckoning the man to a quiet area of the camp. He looked decidedly apprehensive.

"My apologies for letting you sleep past sunrise, Lioness..." he said nervously.

Alanna blinked at him before her lips curved in a small smile. "I'm not going to shout at you," she explained. The tension in the man's shoulders decreased noticeably. Apparently her reputation preceded her. "I wondered what your intended movements were."

The commander of the fifth group rubbed his stubbled chin thoughtfully, "To Corus, if you are finished with us, Lioness."

The Lady Knight clapped him on the shoulder, "Before you go would you do me a favour and transport our new friend to the Goldenlake Keep? I can't fathom why she does not wake but if she doesn't wake soon she'll weaken until she dies."

Geraint nodded. "Of course. We can set up the stretcher between the horses that we use for our injured."

Alanna grinned. "Good man," she said, clapping his shoulder again before walking off.

***

The Riders had packed up camp within an hour of the order to move out. A sling-like stretcher was attached to two horses and the young woman resting inside was secured by a touch of the Gift to prevent her from toppling out. With Daine's assurances, the black mare had agreed without balking, to be tied to the string of spare ponies.

"Riders, move out!" Geraint called. Working with the Lioness had been an interesting experience, he decided with a small, wry smile as he led his group down the dusty, well used road.


	3. Chapter 3: Treachery

**The Royal Palace, Cria, Galla **

Earl Dmitri of Sinjë, unofficial ruler of Galla, moved through the dark halls of the palace, surprisingly silently for a man of his size. A powerfully built warrior, he stood over six feet tall with hair as dark as a raven's wing and eyes the colour of winter skies. He stopped in front of a heavy wooden door and knocked before turning the handle. "Mother?" the tall man called questioningly.

The room he entered was well lit with candles and a fire blazed warmly in the hearth. By it sat a plump, old woman with crinkled blue eyes, wearing a fine green silken dress and warm woollen shawl. Next to her a plainly-dressed maid sat sewing. At the sight of her son she beamed warmly. "Ah, would you give us privacy, my dear?" she asked the girl kindly. The mousy young woman nodded and tucked away her sewing, curtseying to Dmitri without meeting his eyes and thenleaving the room.

When the door closed behind the young woman, the elderly lady's sweet demeanour dropped away instantly like a mask. "Well?" she questioned sharply_._ "Is it done?"

Dmitri reached into his pocket and pulled out a golden seal, the personal seal of the King. "It was done yesterday evening." The gold glittered in the light and a satisfied glint entered the old woman's eyes.

"And the guards?" she questioned shrewdly.

"The guards?" the man repeated, appearing puzzled.

She stood up smoothly, a movement that seemed too flexible for a woman of her age. Stalking towards him in manner that could only be described as predatory. She glared at him. "There can be no witnesses, you fool!" she hissed.

The tall warrior seemed to shrink under her gaze. "...But Mother!" he protested "...the men are loyal to me, they won't say a word."

Her gnarled fingers plucked the ring from his grasp. "They won't say a word! Not until they have too much ale in their bellies or they blab to a pretty face about how they did away with the mad, old King and his family!" Her voice had risen to a screech and her fingers had curled into a fist around the seal.

Dmitri squirmed uncomfortably where he stood and his mother stalked away, pacing in front of the fire. "I will not have all m- _our_ plans ruined by your...squeamishness. We have come too far to fail now." The tall man opened his mouth to protest but was cowed by a stern glance from his mother. She wheeled around and stood in front of him again. "Have all the guards killed, _leave no survivors,_" she stressed the last three words in a low voice.

"I'll see it is done immediately, Mother" Dmitri promised quickly, hoping to calm her outburst.

The harsh lines in the old woman's face softened slightly and she nodded her approval. "You're a good boy, a fine son, and soon a fine King." Her withered hand pressed the ring into his.

"You will announce the _tragic_ deaths of the King and his family tomorrow. The work of assassins, of course, and in five days you will hold the finest funeral Cria has ever seen. There will be a period of mourning and then you shall assume the throne and bring Galla out of its terrible grief." She fixed him with a triumphant smile.

The Earl of Sinjë nodded obediently. "I shall send the heralds out tomorrow and start preparations immediately." He slid the seal onto his finger and admired it in the candlelight.

"But see that anyone involved is disposed of," she warned. "You will not remain darling of the Gallans for long if they find out your treachery. It'll be straight to traitor's hill with you, boy."

"I'll see it is done Mother, I swear it!" he said hastily, a sheen of sweat glimmering on his forehead.

Walking over to the seat, the plump old woman moved to settle down next to the fire once more. She looked to all appearances like a kindly grandmother. "If you see her, send Anna back please."

In the room next door, the mousy haired maid hurriedly closed the small gap she had made in the wards. Her doe-brown eyes were glazed with horror as she tried to comprehend all that she had just heard. She waited, trembling with fear as the Earl Dmitri footsteps disappeared down the corridor before she walked as calmly as she could to the palace roof.

In the chill moonlight she wrote on creamy parchment with hurried, untidy strokes. From her bodice, she pulled out a small wooden whistle and brought it to her lips. The noise it made was beyond her human hearing, but in the distance a white shape swooped though the night.

The owl perched patiently on the roof whilst the maid tied her coded report around its leg. She shivered slightly at its uncanny behaviour but prayed the gods granted it speed in its flight.

***

**Goldenlake Keep, Tortall**

It was curiosity more than anything that led Jasson to the sunlit rooms of the hospital wing. His visit to Goldenlake had been decidedly less eventful than he had imagined when he had requested to join Baron George in a desperate attempt to escape the social season. He had been acting as little more than a clerk and errand boy for several weeks.

From the walls of the keep he had seen the Queen's Riders approach and recognised the stretcher between the horses for what it was. Trouble? If that was the case, why hadn't the Riders called for help? He ran a hand through his jet hair, a habit he had picked up when something worried him.

Ducking into a ward he walked over to where an old healer, whose back was bowed with age, was tending to his latest patient. The mage gave Jasson a respectful nod as he approached but did not falter in his work on the girl who lay as if asleep on the bed. The younger man, knowing not to disturb a healer at work, kept silent until the grey blaze of his power retracted back into the healer's palms. "Is she a Rider? What's wrong with her? Can she be healed?" he questioned, flushing slightly when he realised he was acting like an over-eager child.

The healer's face was grim. "She was brought in by the Riders but she's a traveller. She's already been seen to by the Lioness and in truth I can see no medical reason why she should not wake."

Jasson frowned at the prone form of the girl. "Then why is she still unconscious?"

The old man gave the younger one a tired look. "There are times when it is up to them if they ever wake up. I've seen it countless times on those brought from battle, sometimes the world is just too full of dark places for them to bear."

Jasson stared at him stricken touched the girl's hand briefly. "So you won't do anything?"

The aged healer sighed. "I cannot." He gave Jasson a regretful smile. "It is not that I do not care, it is just that there are refugees who need my time a great deal more." He began to gather up his things and put them in the healer's pouch attached to his belt. "Talking to them helps, and if you can dribble some warm milk and honey into their mouths they usually swallow automatically."

"You surely don't expect..."

The mage fixed him with a glance. "I've got patients to see," he said in a firm voice "Patients I know I can help," the healer added and then continued as though he had not been interrupted. "_Warm, _mind you, not hot. Like a babe's milk, test it on the back of your hand first."

"I..."

The old healer gave Jasson a short bow before hobbling from the sunlit ward, leaving the young man alone and exasperated with his new patient.

"Ah, hello," he murmured as he sat down next to the girl. "I'll be looking after you, I suppose." He glanced at the healer report. "Elena. That's a pretty name."

***

The sun burned low in the sky when Baron George Cooper, stepped into the healing ward in search of his wayward assistant. In the far corner he spotted him sitting beside an occupied cot.

"...I ended up being thrown from my horse. My brother Liam laughed so much he was nearly sick."

"Lad," the spymaster said by way of greeting, pulling up a chair to sit opposite from the sapphire-eyed youngster.

Jasson tried to look apologetic for shirking his duties, but a twinkle in the Baron's eyes showed he didn't believe it for a moment. "Looks like you've got yourself a project," he said nodding to the comatose girl.

"I'm sorry for disappearing on you like that," the young man apologised quickly.

"Sneakin' ain't for most folk. I'm grateful you stuck at it this long, t' be honest." George replied easily. "Me an' Fiona will cope. The Gallans aren't givin' us anything new anyway." There was a slight hint of frustration in his voice.

Jasson breathed a silent sigh of relief; he had been acting as little more than a clerk for weeks. A warm hand settled on his shoulder and he looked up to find the Baron's face closer to his. "Just don't get attached, Lad," he warned Jasson. "I spoke to the healer and he says her chances ain't good."

"I can't just leave her to die," he replied stubbornly. "It isn't right."

George sighed and stood. "Don't stay up too late." He began walking away from the ward.

In a low voice Jasson said, "We'll prove them wrong about you, Elena, I promise."


	4. Chapter 4: Awakening

**The Royal Palace, Cria, Galla **

Anna's fingers blazed with the rose pink colour of her Gift as she gently parted the delicate threads of the neighbouring room's wards. It was a time consuming business, but a trick she had done countless times before.

"..._let one escape?!_" a woman's voice bellowed, making the maid flinch. That was definitely Lady Olga, her mistress and mother to the Earl of Sinjë. She listened on.

"We have the King's body, that is all the people and nobility need to see," he wheedled, muttering placating words to his mother.

"Tell me _exactly _how you managed to lose one of the King's brats," the old woman said in a dangerously low tone, cutting off her son.

She could hear Earl Dmitri's feet shuffling on the stone as he paced nervously to and fro. "I ordered them shot with crossbows in the cellar of the castle just as you suggested, Mother." Anna's fingers trembled and the threads slipped back into place. Desperately, she parted them again, but it was frustratingly slow work. "...horse missing from the stable and no body."

There was a deafening silence in the neighbouring room for several tense moments. "Allow viewings of the King at the funeral tomorrow, but not the rest." The doe-eyed girl heard the old woman say calmly, though she was clearly fighting the urge to screech at her son again. "You will say the assassin's attack left them in a distressing state."

The maid's heart fluttered in her chest. There was hope! A child of the King yet lived. Anna listened intently to the rest of the conversation, hoping to catch more details of the survivor. The King had fathered two daughters and two sons but she had no idea who had escaped. As the conversation ended, unfortunately rewarding her with no further information, the mousy girl let the magical threads of the wards slip closed again. She had to send her message out immediately.

On the palace rooftop, the young woman wrote her encoded report on spelled parchment, glad for once that her words contained good news. She sent out the silent call for the owl that carried her messages so diligently.

The familiar, ghostly shape swooped out of the night sky and landed next to her, greeting the maid with a soft hoot and regarding her with austere black eyes. "I'm sorry to burden you again so soon, Mistress Owl," Anna murmured, feeling slightly foolish as she spoke. She gently tied her message to the owl's leg and stepped back, straightening as she did so. The snowy owl launched into the night with a graceful spread of wings and the maid watched the creature's beautiful flight.

Suddenly, the owl dropped like a stone and Anna muffled a cry of distress in her sleeve. Peering over the edge of the roof, she saw a guard in blue and silver livery of the palace lowering his longbow. The other guard who stood with him pointed at the roof, at her. Panicked, the maid ducked and half crouched as she ran to the door leading off the roof. Adrenaline rushing through her veins, she ducked into a shadowed alcove and within moments, the palace guards were racing down the hall and onto the roof. Not wasting a moment, Anna hurried down the corridor and back to Lady Olga's rooms.

"Why, my dear, you are breathless!" exclaimed the Lady with apparent concern. The maid froze, staring at the older woman with wide, frightened eyes.

"I...there was a disturbance on the roof and I was caught up in the excitement," Anna said quickly, choosing her words so no truth spell would detect a lie. "I'm sorry, my Lady." She curtsied.

For a brief moment, she saw a cool, assessing look in the old woman's eyes before her kindly mask returned. "You young ones are so excitable," she said cheerfully. "I believe I will retire for the night, Anna. It will be a big day tomorrow with the sad business of my nephew's funeral."

After assisting Lady Olga to dress, the mousy girl sat alone on her cot, her mind working furiously. She was trapped and so very far from Tortall. Her only means of communication had been cut off and she did not doubt security would be even tighter now that the Earl of Sinjë planned to take the throne. Nervous and fearful, Anna fell into troubled dreams.

***

**Two weeks later, Goldenlake Keep**

Peaceful darkness, oblivion. She liked it there, nothing hurt, no fears, no screaming . But there was a voice that wouldn't let her sink into the darkness, it wouldn't be quiet. It told her stories and spoke about the weather; inane things but they filtered into her peaceful world.

Birds, it took her a while to remember what birds were, but the insistent chittering was more bothersome than the voice. She stirred. It felt like her limbs were weighted with lead, but as she made the effort to move, the noise seemed to increase in volume.

Her eyelids fluttered; the brief, blinding light drew a groan from her throat.

With great effort she opened her eyes, just briefly to see the sunlit room around her in soft focus, before she lost the battle with her eyelids and they snapped shut again. The darkness called to her, comforting and warm in comparison to the harsh world waiting beyond her lids. "No," she said, hearing a croak emit from her parched lips.

Again she opened her eyes; it was less of a struggle now and the room was in focus. A small snoring noise to her left made her jump and with effort she turned her head. Slumped in a comfortable chair next to her cot was ahandsome, dark-haired man. In sleep, his features were relaxed and he looked young, the sunlight catching his face well to make him all the nicer to look at. His clothes were simple, a white shirt that hung loosely and black breeches but the material was of a fine quality.

Spying a glass of water at her bedside, she reached for it. Her hand grasping clumsily at the tumbler and was knocked to the ground with a painfully loud crashing noise. She flopped weakly back down on the bed, exhausted by her efforts and looked down at the spilled drink mournfully before meeting startled sapphire eyes.

"You're awake," the handsome young man said, looking happy. She frowned up at him. He was familiar, but when she tried to speak a dry croak was all that escaped her lips.

The cool rim of a glass was pressed to her lips and she took small sips of the chilled water until it was drawn away. Suddenly, it hit her. He was the voice. "Do I know you?" she asked.

The blue-eyed man shook his head. "I've been caring for you, I'm Jasson." He flashed her a bright smile that made her forget to breathe for a moment. "I need to get Lyle though. He's the head healer here, so he will check you over." And then he was gone, leaving her alone.

It felt like she blinked, but when she opened her eyes again, an old man with warm, grey eyes was leaning over her. "Decided to join us have you?" the healer said, though not unkindly.

She nodded, blinking up at the aged mage in slight bewilderment. Hovering in the background, Jasson gave her a reassuring smile.

The healer leaned back and held out his index finger. "Grip as hard as you can, my dear." She raised her arm with effort and obediently curled her hand around his finger, it felt weak even to her. The old man nodded to himself and she let go and moved closer to peer into her eyes with his fingertips glowing with Gift. "Pupils reacting well," he murmured mostly to himself, but ended up smiling warmly. "Now, a few questions to check there was no permanent damage done from that knock to the head. Two plus seven?"

"Nine," she replied croakily, accepting another sip of water.

"Where is Corus?" the healer questioned.

"Tortall..."

"Good," the old man said. "What is your name?"

That gave her pause, her name. Her mind scrambled desperately to find it, but it was like trying to hold sand in her fingers, it slipped away elusively. "I..."

The mage's face darkened with worry. "Your name, dear?" he prompted gently.

She shook her head. "I don't know," she muttered, panic rising in her chest. "What's going on? Where am I?"

"Your name is Elena." Jasson supplied helpfully, "We found it inscribed on your locket.

"Elena," she repeated, rolling the name around her mind. Faintly, colourful images rose, but there was nothing clear enough to discern. She frowned in annoyance.

"Is that sparking any memories for you?" the old healer asked.

Elena shook her head. "Nothing clear."

"Where were you born?" he questioned.

She squeezed her eyes shut. "I don't know."

"Do you have any family?"

She shook her head again. "I can't remember," Elena told him, feeling dismayed. It felt as though a large chunk of her was missing.

She felt a warm hand pat her arm reassuringly and opened her eyes to meet the healer's gaze. "It will come back to you, don't push yourself." He bustled away to see to his other patients.

With Jasson's help, she propped herself up with pillows before he perched on the end of her bed. "I can't believe you woke up, I mean I hoped you would... but it has been nearing three weeks."

"You spoke to me, didn't you? While I was out?" Elena asked quietly.

The tips of Jasson's ears went pink. "To help you wake up." He paused for a moment, thinking, and then looked at her intently. "Do you remember what I said?"

She shook her head. "I remember your voice."

The admission seemed to make him brighten. "Are you hungry?"

***

With the help of a female healer, Elena dressed in a light, woollen shirt and breeches. Clothed and fed, she felt a lot less groggy than she had, although her memories still seemed to meander just beyond her grasp.

For the first time, Elena peered into a looking glass and stared into an unfamiliar face. The first thing that grabbed her attention was her green eyes, and then the purple bruises of exhaustion underneath them. Her skin was pale, too pale, and gave her a sickly look. Also, her cheekbones were too prominent to be considered healthy. She brushed her dark brown hair aside to reveal a nasty looking scar. Her fingers traced it, the skin still pink though she could not dredge up anything other than the brief flash of a blade when she tried to recall receiving it. Hurriedly combing her hair over it with her fingers, Elena tried to conceal it. Her nose she could do nothing to hide. There was a definite bend where a break had healed badly which she covered it with her hand self-consciously.

"Lyle says a small walk would do you good, if you feel up to it?" Jasson's voice broke her examination of herself.

She smiled up at him. "If you don't have to help him out with anything else. After all, the ward is very busy at the moment."

Jasson gave her a startled look. "Oh, I'm not a healer."

Elena frowned. "Then why were you looking after me? What do you do then?" she questioned.

He ran his fingers through his hair. "I offered to help out so I could get out of clerk duties. Shall we go for that walk? I can show you the keep."

She accepted his arm to lean on, her strength still depleted. It occurred to her that he had not really answered her question about his job but she didn't push it further. As they walked, Jasson told her about his siblings. He regaled her with the story of him and his younger sisters stealing his father's paperwork and replacing it with dreadful love poetry. And the time his older brother Liam had climbed a tree to prove he could and become stuck. Sometimes he would pause and go silent for an awkward moment before continuing, as if he was editing events.

Their walk took them around the walls of the keep. To the north and west, mountains stood tall, like blue shadows in the distance. "Galla is that way." Jasson pointed west. "With your accent, and the amount of Gallans choosing to move to Tortall, it's probably where you are from."

Elena squinted at the distant mountain range, hoping for a hint of recognition to stir within her, but , to her disappointment, she felt nothing.

Closer to Goldenlake Keep, a rich tapestry of fields stretched below them, some ploughed but others grassy with livestock grazing in them. To the south was a huge lake, bordered by trees on the far side.

Elena leaned against the stone parapet and idly watched a small sailing boat take advantage of the wind to cut a swift path across the lake. "Why is it called Goldenlake?" she asked, since the lake appeared to be a normal colour.

"You can't see it at sunset because the mountains block the sunlight, but I'll show you at sunrise if you like?" Jasson offered, his face was inches from hers and for a brief moment she thought he was going to kiss her.

"I'd love to..." she replied faintly. Jasson grinned and the moment was broken, he guided her back to the healing wing and her ward.

Elena felt as though she had walked for miles when she sat on her cot, her legs felt shaky and weak and her whole body ached.

"Don't worry, your strength will come back once you eat a few good meals and exercise," Jasson comforted, as if he had read her mind.

She sighed and pulled an impatient face before saying unhappily, "I know. I just want to feel better now."

He smiled, his sapphire-blue eyes shining in amusement and opened his mouth to reply when he paused, looking beyond Elena. She turned and saw a tall man standing behind her. He had a lean figure and blinking up into his hazel eyes she saw his hair was brown and cut short. "Glad to see you awake, Lass," he said by way of greeting.


	5. Chapter 5: Questioning

Jasson stood to introduce them and helped Elena stand. "This is my Godsfather, Baron George Cooper of Pirate's Swoop."

"A pleasure to meet you," Elena murmured, her hands automatically reaching for the skirt she was not wearing so she could curtsy. Blushing slightly in embarrassment, she gave a small bow instead and met the tall man's amused hazel eyes.

"No need for any of that, darlin'," he said with a wink and a moment later his face turned more serious. "We need to have a chat about some things, if you feel up it of course?"

She shot Jasson a nervous look. Why was a noble interested in her? She nodded reluctantly and let the Baron lead her away from her companion.

"There's no need to be nervous," he told her kindly as they walked down a high ceilinged corridor together. The walls were smooth and constructed of a pale stone with simple flowing designs carved into the masonry.

Elena nodded, reassured slightly. "I'm sorry; you're the first noble I've met."

Baron George looked at her strangely for a moment before smothering a smile. "I see." He turned his head and coughed, leaving Elena with the distinct feeling he was trying not to laugh. "Well I'm common-born," he informed her, grinning at her surprised expression. "Ah here we are," he opened a door and ushered her inside.

The room was cramped but cosy, scrolls and maps littered every surface and a fire burned warmly in a sooty hearth.

"This is Raoul an' Alanna, Elena."

Seated amongst the sheaves of papers were a man and a woman. Even though she was sitting, Elena could tell the red-haired woman was rather short. Her amethyst eyes glittered in the firelight. On the woman's right sat a man with hair as dark as Jasson's, but his eyes were black. A giant of a man, he stood as they entered the room. His large, callused hand encased hers and he shook it firmly.

Intimidated by the giant, Elena drew back and moved to shake hands with the woman, finding, to her surprise, her hands were also callused.

"Please, sit," the woman, Alanna, said brusquely.

Elena perched unsurely on a stool provided by the baron. "What's going on?" she asked nervously.

"We just want to ask you a few questions," the giant man said reassuringly as he sat back down.

"All right," agreed Elena. "Though I'm not sure if I'll know the answers..." Her hands clenched into fists in annoyance at the vital piece missing from her.

"Do the best you can," the hazel-eyed baron said with a smile.

"Where are you from?" The giant named Raoul asked. From the corner of her eye she could see Alanna shifting impatiently.

Elena sighed in frustration. "I've been told my accent is Gallan, so Galla I think."

"How did you get your injuries?" Alanna asked, moving on.

"I don't know," she frowned. "Injuries - plural? I was told I knocked my head."

"You had a wound in your side as well," Alanna disclosed. "You truly remember nothing?"

Elena shook her head. "No," she said miserably. She saw the baron nod to the others out of the corner of her eye and some tension Elena had not previously noticed left the room.

The violet-eyed woman drew something blue from a canvas sack by her feet. From what Elena could tell the fabric was very finely made. "Do you recognise this?" she asked.

Elena shook her head, gasping when Alanna let it unfold. What had once been a fine gown was ruined by a dark stain of dried blood and for a moment the room blurred and disappeared.

She didn't see the dress anymore, but a thick smothering darkness and she felt a hot, searing pain in her side and heard the screams of men, women and children.

"Elena!" said a gruff voice, shaking her out of the horrible place. She blinked and found dark eyes staring into her face worriedly. Suddenly, Raoul seemed a lot less frightening.

She heard an impatient noise and saw Alanna had tucked the dress away again. "Stop coddling her, Raoul," she said irritably, turning her intense violet gaze on Elena fully. "You've remembered something, what?"

Still desperate to shy away from the memory she murmured, "People screaming."

"Who?" Alanna pressed.

Elena glanced around the room in appeal; she didn't_ want_ to know who was screaming. The brief glimpse of memory she had experienced had left her trembling. Pressing her palms to her eyes, she pretended to try to remember for a long moment, before faking a sigh of frustration and looking up at her three questioners. "I don't know."

There was another nod from Baron George and they seemed to accept her word, though she could see Alanna already had several more questions lined up. The hazel-eyed man put a hand on the redhead's shoulder and gave her a look Elena could not quite make out.

Turning back to her, he said, "Here's what we know about you, Elena: your name from your locket, and also a rough age for you. An examination of your saddle showed a stamp from the small Gallan fief of Drustva, so we're guessin' that's where you hail from. Your horse is a fine mount so one would believe you stole it…"

Elena's hands tightened into fists at the accusation.

"But," he added hastily, "our Wildmage says it isn't the case, which makes sense with your clothing, when you were found. I reckon you were part of the lord's family."

Elena blinked, she could be a noble? That surprised her. She tried to process all the new information about her life, reaching into the void where she knew her memories lingered just out of her reach. Drustva. It seemed familiar, like a heavy weight in her chest, but she couldn't remember why. "So I could ride to Drustva? My family is there?"

It was Raoul who spoke next, shaking his head. "Drustva, along with many other fiefs its size, were abandoned by the nobility when the King's cousin began ruling in all but name and started executing them."

"Why was he executing them?" asked Elena, bewildered.

Baron George shook his head. "All traitors plottin' to kill the King and his children, or so he said."

Alanna shrugged and chipped in. "There's madness in that family. The King was found holding a full council with a clearing of trees once."

Something pricked Elena's memory, but the images still eluded her. Confusion was her overriding emotion of the moment.

Raoul seemed to take pity on her. "We can send out quiet enquiries to find the Lord of Drustva, but it's unlikely we'll find them in all this confusion, I'm afraid. Your family could have fled anywhere. You weren't far from the border of Maren when you were found."

"I understand," Elena said numbly, wondering if she would ever see her family again. For a brief moment she saw a flash of a little boy with wispy brown hair staring up at her solemnly before the memory was washed away by the emptiness she knew held the rest of her memories captive.

George stood and walked over to the window. "Well, I think it's time for bed. I'm sure you need your sleep, Elena."

She sighed in reply. "I think I've done enough sleeping to last me a while."

Alanna smiled at her for the first time. "You need some proper sleep in you still, healer's orders," she said firmly.

Accepting Raoul's arm, Elena let him escort her back to the healing ward, her first impressions of him being a terrifying giant completely gone.

At the door closed Alanna turned to her husband, "Well, what do you think?"

George leaned against the wall with his arms crossed thoughtfully. "I'm almost certain she's not a spy, but she was holding something back. I could see that even without my Sight."

The Lioness nodded, agreeing with his assessment. "I think she remembered more than she wanted to speak about when she saw that dress."

The spymaster rubbed his face wearily. "I was hoping to get something from her. My birdie in the palace has been most quiet of late."

Alanna stood and stretched tiredly. "I've been hunting hurroks for the past two weeks. I could do with some sleep on a bed for once."

George wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a kiss. "Mayhap I could distract you from that for a while," he replied huskily, lifting his eyebrow suggestively.

Alanna smiled and allowed herself to be dragged from the room.


End file.
